by Diana Palmer
Her excited eyes approved his neat gray vested suit, which made his hair look even more blond. At either side of them were Bess and Jenny in matching blue dresses, carrying baskets of white roses. Next to them was John, his brother’s best man, fumbling in his pocket for the wedding rings he was responsible for.
As the ceremony progressed, a tall, blond man in the front pew watched with narrowed, wistful eyes as his godchild married the eldest of the Callister heirs. Not bad, K.C. Kantor thought, for a girl who’d barely survived a military uprising even before she was born. He glanced at the woman seated next to him, his eyes sad and quiet, as he contemplated what might have been if he’d met Kasie’s aunt before her heart led her to a life of service in a religious order. They were the best of friends and they corresponded. She would always be family to him. She was the only family he had, or would ever have, except for that sweet young woman at the altar.
“Isn’t she beautiful?” Mama Luke whispered to him.
“A real vision,” he agreed.
She smiled at him with warm affection and turned her attention back to the ceremony.
As the priest pronounced them man and wife, Gil lifted the veil and bent to kiss Kasie. There were sighs all around, until a small hand tugged hard at Kasie’s skirt and a little voice was heard asking plaintively, “Is it over yet, Daddy? I have to go to the bathroom!”
Later, laughing about the small interruption as they gathered in the fellowship hall of the church, Kasie and Gil each cuddled a little girl and fed them cake.
“It was nice of Pauline to apologize for what she did in the Bahamas,” Kasie murmured, recalling the telephone call that had both surprised and pleased her the day before the ceremony.
“She’s really not that bad,” Gil mused. “Just irresponsible and possessive. But I still didn’t want her at the wedding,” he added with a grin. “Just in case.”
“I still wish you’d invited your parents,” Kasie told Gil gently.
“I did,” he replied. “They were on their way to the Bahamas and couldn’t spare the time.” He smiled at her. “Don’t worry the subject, Kasie. Some things can’t be changed. We’re a family, you and me and the girls and John.”
“Yes, we are,” she agreed, and she reached up to kiss him. She glanced around them curiously. Mama Luke intercepted the glance and joined them.
“He left as we were coming in here,” she told Kasie. “K.C. never was one for socializing. I expect he’s headed for the airport by now.”
“It was nice of him to come.”
“It was,” she agreed. She handed a small box to Kasie. “He asked me to give this to you.”
She frowned, pausing to open the box. She drew out a gold necklace with a tiny crystal ball dangling from it. Inside the ball was a tiny seed.
“It’s a mustard seed,” Mama Luke explained. “It’s from a Biblical quote—if you have even that amount of faith, as a mustard seed, nothing is impossible. It’s to remind you that miracles happen.”
Kasie cradled it in her hand and looked up at Gil with her heart in her eyes. “Indeed they do,” she whispered, and all the love she had for her new husband was in her face.
The next night, Kasie and Gil lay tangled in a kingsize bed at a rented villa in Nassau, exhausted and deliciously relaxed from their first intimacy.
Kasie moved shyly against him, her face flushed in the aftermath of more physical sensation than she’d ever experienced.
“Stop that,” he murmured drowsily. “I’m useless now. Go to sleep.”
She laughed with pure delight and curled closer. “All right. But don’t forget where we left off.”
He drew her closer. “As if I could!” He bent and kissed her eyes shut. “Kasie, I never dreamed that I could be this happy again.” His eyes opened and looked into hers with fervent possession. “I loved Darlene. A part of me will always love her. But I would die for you,” he added roughly, his eyes blazing with emotion.
Overwhelmed, she buried her face in his throat and shivered. “I would die for you,” she choked. She clung harder. “I love you!”
His mouth found hers, hungry for contact, for the sharing of fierce, exquisite need. He drew her over his relaxed body and held her until the trembling stopped. His breath sighed out heavily at her ear. “Forever, Kasie,” he whispered unsteadily.
She smiled. “Forever.”
They slept, eventually, and as dawn filtered in through the venetian blinds and the sound of the surf grew louder, there was a knock on the door.
Gil opened his eyes, still drowsy. He looked down at Kasie, fast asleep on her stomach, smiling even so. He smiled, too, and tossed the sheet over her before he stepped into his Bermuda shorts and went to answer the door.
The shock when he opened it was blatant. On the doorstep were a silver-haired man in casual slacks and designer shirt, and a silver-haired woman in a neat but casual sundress and overblouse. They were carrying the biggest bouquet of orchids Gil had ever seen in his life.
The man pushed the bouquet toward Gil hesitantly and with a smile that seemed both hesitant and uncertain. “Congratulations,” he said.
“From both of us,” the woman added.
They both stood there, waiting.
As Gil searched for words, there was movement behind him and Kasie came to the door in the flowered cotton muu-muu she’d bought for the trip, her long chestnut hair disheveled, smiling broadly.
“Hello!” she exclaimed, going past Gil to hug the woman and then the man, who both flushed. “I’m so glad you could come!”
Gil stared at her. “What?”
“I phoned them,” she told him, clasping his big hand in hers. “They said they’d like to come over and have lunch with us, and I told them to come today. But I overslept,” she added, and flushed.
“It’s your honeymoon, you should oversleep,” Gil’s mother, Magdalene, said gently. She looked at her son nervously. “We wanted to come to the wedding,” she said. “But we didn’t want to, well, ruin the day for you.”
“That’s right,” Jack Callister agreed gruffly. “We haven’t been good parents. At first we were too irresponsible, and then we were too ashamed. Especially when Douglas took you in and we lost touch.” He shrugged. “It’s too late to start over, of course, but we’d sort of like to, well, to get to know you and John. And the girls, of course. That is, if you, uh, if you…” He shrugged.
Kasie squeezed Gil’s hand, hard.
“I’d like that,” he said obligingly.
Their faces changed. They beamed. For several seconds, they looked like silver-haired children on Christmas morning. And Gil realized with stark shock that they were just that—grown-up children without the first idea of how to be parents. Douglas Callister had kept the boys, and he hadn’t approved of his brother Jack, so he hadn’t encouraged contact. Since the elder Callisters didn’t know how to approach their children directly, they lost touch and then couldn’t find a way to reach them at all.
He looked down at Kasie, and it all made sense. She’d tied the loose ends up. She’d gathered a family back together.
She squeezed Gil’s hand again, looking up at him with radiant delight. “We could get dressed and meet them in the restaurant. After we put these in water,” she added, hugging the bouquet to her heart and sniffing them. “I’ve never had orchids in my life,” she said with a smile. “Thank you!”
Magdalena laughed nervously. “No, Kasie. Thank you.”
“We’ll get dressed and meet you in about fifteen minutes, in the restaurant,” Gil managed to say.
“Great!” Jack said. He took his wife’s hand, and they both smiled, looking ten years younger. “We’ll see you there!”
The door closed and Gil looked down at Kasie with wonder.
“I thought they might like to visit us at the ranch next month, too,” Kasie said, “so they can get to know the babies.”
“You’re amazing,” he said. “Absolutely amazing!”
She fingered the neckl
ace K.C. had given her at the wedding. “I like miracles, don’t you?”
He burst out laughing. He picked her up and swung her around in an arc while she squealed and held on to her bouquet tightly. He put her down gently and kissed her roughly.
“I love you,” he said huskily.
She grinned. “Yes, and see what it gets you when you love people? You get all sorts of nice surprises. In fact,” she added with a mischievous grin, “I have all sorts of surprises in store for you.”
He took a deep breath and looked at her with warm affection. “I can hardly wait.”
She kissed him gently and went to dress. She gave a thought to Gil’s Darlene, and to her own parents, and her lost twin and his family, and hoped that they all knew, somehow, that she and Gil were happy and that they had a bright future with the two little girls and the children they would have together. As she went to the closet to get her dress, her eyes were full of dreams. And so were Gil’s.
Trophy Wives
By
Jan Colley
Thanks for the support of romance writing organisations everywhere, and all the multi-published authors who give up their time to help the newbies.
JAN COLLEY lives in Christchurch, New Zealand, with her long-suffering fireman and two cats who don’t appear to suffer much at all. She started writing after selling a business because, at tender middle age, she is a firm believer in spending her time doing something she loves. A member of the Romance Writers of New Zealand and Romance Writers of Australia, she is determined that this book will be the first of many. She enjoys reading, travelling and watching rugby, and would be tickled pink to hear from readers. E-mail her at [email protected].
Chapter One
Her heels clicked across the big expanse of floor, quick and sharp. Head swiveling, she dismissed the individuals milling this way and that. Where was he?
Who could blame him for not waiting? She was nearly an hour late, after all. Could she never get anything right?
There. Sitting alone by the domestic arrivals gate. Exactly where he was supposed to be.
Lucy replaced her impatient expression with a determined smile. Ethan Rae. Mr. Ethan Rae. She started quickly toward him across the concourse of the small airport, mentally chanting an apology. Mr. Rae. I am so sorry.
Her heels made a cheerful ditty on the polished linoleum. The sound kept up with her, and, as she drew level with the slumped figure in the chair, she was astonished to see no movement.
He was asleep!
Hot guilt washed over her and she nervously chewed her bottom lip. She was in so much trouble. Tom had already scalped her for the mix-up over ordering the luxury van that they used to escort clients from the airport to the lodge. By the time she had worked it out, it was too late to do anything else but collect him herself.
“Wha-a-a-t?” her half brother had practically yelled down the phone. “You can’t pick him up in the Beast. Couldn’t you have ordered him a car—limo, rental—anything?”
“Everything is booked. There’s an APEC conference on in town, remember?”
“What about your car?”
She grimaced. “I’m having it cleaned. Why didn’t you check his arrival time, Tom? We had a deal.”
“Well, yes,” he conceded, and Lucy was gratified to hear some guilt in his voice. “I’ve got rather a lot on my plate at the moment.” His heavy sigh down the line was timed for maximum sympathy.
“You’re not the only one. Besides you know how I am. You’re supposed to check these things.” Lucy tried to recall the fax containing details of the man’s booking. “Who ever uses the twenty-four-hour clock, anyway?”
Tom sighed again. “Well, get here as soon as you can. And apologize like hell. Drinks start at seven-thirty. I need you here.”
The current object of her agitation snoozed on, oblivious. She felt a headache twinge behind her eyes. She stood, clutching her wallet with both hands in front of her, wondering how to proceed.
Good suit, she noted, being rather an expert at clothes. Conservative, but expensive. The jacket was unfastened, revealing a stone-colored shirt wrapped around a long, lean torso with impressively broad shoulders. Long legs, crossed at the ankles, thrust into soft leather shoes. Well-tended hands lay on the armrests of the narrow chair, fingers splayed, giving the impression that he was ready to spring into action in an instant.
The thick hair on his bowed head was the color of bitter chocolate, with a fine tracing of silver at the neatly trimmed sideburns. It would grow wavy, she decided, if it were allowed. His skin was tan and smooth with a dark bluish shadow around his relaxed jaw.
She guessed he was little more than thirty, younger than she’d expected. Only the very rich could afford to stay at Summerhill, her family homestead, and enjoy the exclusive hunting, trekking and charters they offered. Usually the very rich were older—and accompanied.
A warm shiver of interest stirred, deep inside. Maybe her day was about to get better, after all.
The man’s eyelids stirred. Lucy drew herself up to her full five-foot-five, inhaling apprehensively. Apology time. Her mind clicked into her best customer-service mode, her face into a smile she hoped conveyed apology and courtesy. She cleared her throat gently. “Mr. Rae? Ethan Rae?”
She watched his eyes squeeze tight. His mouth twisted in a grimace, then softened. The fingers of his left hand flexed then curled around the arm of his chair. When she looked back at his face, his eyelids had risen, but, because of his slumped position, he was looking down at her feet. Lucy waited.
And waited. He appeared to be conducting a fairly thorough examination of her painted toenails, her feet encased in strappy turquoise sandals, then her legs and finally the hem of the sea-green tunic that floated below the waist of her silk pants. He was actually studying her—minutely. Not even bothering to grant her the courtesy and respect of looking at her face.
Lucy shifted slightly, and the breath that escaped from her lips had no taint of apology now.
But still he dawdled, his shuttered eyes resting now on her hips, a tiny line creasing his forehead. And then they traveled on, up over the swell of her breasts. Instinctively, she tugged the edge of her blue-green silk shawl a little higher as his eyes lingered over pale skin exposed by the spaghetti straps of her tunic.
By the time his gaze reached her face, she felt as flushed as a schoolgirl. But it wasn’t schoolgirl indignation she was feeling. Discomfort jostled with appreciation of his dark good looks, and a little thrill of awareness that she wasn’t the only one pleasantly surprised by the meeting. A knowing and rather pleased smile quirked her brows as she met his gaze.
Not that she cared, but no sign of apology crossed his unwavering look. Pale blue eyes, in shocking contrast to his deeply tanned face, met hers and continued to scrutinize bluntly, curiously, in a haze of drowsy appreciation.
Lucy lifted her chin. “Mr. Ethan Rae?” She was thankful that there was no hint in her voice of the butterflies that leapt to life in her midriff.
Still regarding her intently, his head inclined an inch. Lucy exhaled. “Lucy McKinlay.” She offered her hand. “I’ve come to drive you out to Summerhill.”
He blinked, ignoring her outstretched hand, and slowly raised himself to his feet. She stepped back involuntarily. His long lean frame unwound itself to loom above her, with only inches between them.
Her heart gave a lazy, rolling thump, just once.
Ethan Rae stretched and ran one hand through his hair. An interesting little cowlick flicked up at the front, incongruous when matched with his stern and conservative air. She rather liked it.
His eyes narrowed, crinkling at the corners and pierced her with a glittering lance. “Evening.” His voice was deep, lazy.
Lucy pursed her lips to stop the teasing smile that threatened to erupt. This man was a client. Flirting would be unprofessional and inappropriate.
But tempting. Very tempting…“I’m sorry I’m late, Mr. Rae.”
He glance
d at the silver timepiece on his wrist. “One hour late.”
Three short words, but Lucy lost herself in the deep, flowing timbre of his voice. “Sorry,” she said again, too distracted to look contrite. “Do you have luggage?”
His pale orbs flicked to an expensive-looking bag under the chair beside his.
Lucy reached for the bag. “You travel light.”
Ethan Rae intercepted her with his shoulder, all signs of drowsiness gone, and hoisted the bag. “I’ve got it.”
Lucy turned and led him through the terminal toward the exit, totally aware of his presence behind her, of his eyes on her. She consciously tightened every inch of her spine, lifted her head and walked as if she were on a catwalk. The shawl dipped down at the back and she did nothing to halt the slide. She didn’t mind at all showing off the almost backless tunic top, loving how the silk swished and rustled with the movement of her thighs. If he wanted to look, he could look. It might take his mind off her tardiness.
He was the most attractive man her eyes had been treated to in a long while. She obviously spent too much time with older men.
“Did you have a hard night?” she asked brightly, determined to charm him. It was a seventy-minute drive to their destination. Lust was uncomfortable enough. Disapproving silence would be worse.
Ethan blinked as the crisp night air touched his face. He drew level with her in long gliding strides. His brows rose at her question but he did not speak.
A man of few words, she deduced. “You were sleeping.”
“Long flight,” was his eventual response, matched with a lengthy gaze.
A man who considers every word uttered to him and by him. The commentary hummed in her brain. “From Sydney?”
He nodded briefly. “Started a couple of days ago. From Saudi.”
Lucy nodded and turned to the pay-to-go station, feeding her ticket and some coins into the slot to pay for parking. Then she faced him and took a deep breath. “About the transportation…” She reluctantly gestured toward the filthiest and most ancient four-wheel-drive in the park. “I have to apologize. Again.”